


In the Sauna with Donna

by grey2510



Series: Convos with Crowley [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banniks, Canon Universe, Donna is awesome, Gen, Sauna, Spa Treatments, and Crowley deserves all the friends, unlikely friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: Crowley has always preferred mixing work and pleasure, especially when that work does not involve the drudgeries of running Hell. So when a case of mysterious deaths crops up at a spa, how can Crowley resist? And it seems a local sheriff has had the same notion.
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural) & Donna Hanscum
Series: Convos with Crowley [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/701880
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	In the Sauna with Donna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThayerKerbasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/gifts).



Being the King of Hell is hard. All work, no play—not unless he makes time for play, that is. And if he ever has the chance to combine the two, well, so much the better. Honestly, Crowley's efficiency in Hell would make Mussolini's trains look about as punctual as Boston's infernal T lines.

And so, when he gets whispers through the grapevine that his favorite massage parlour in the general Minnesotan region is offering less in the way of happy endings and more in the way of untimely deaths, Crowley feels he should probably investigate. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum would be so proud, he's sure. But he has no desire to call in the dynamic denim duo, lest they ruin a perfectly good spa with their lumbering masculinity and no appreciation for the finer things in life.

He hangs up the phone with Brittany, the delightfully perky receptionist, already looking forward to this kind of undercover work. The fluffy white towels really are quite excellent. And Rashad's hands are like absolute magic—and Crowley _knows_ magic. This couldn't come at a better time: the knots in his shoulders have practically turned to rocks in the past few weeks.

"Sir," his minion secretary of the week accosts him in the hallway just before he can teleport away, "if you have a moment—I'd like to talk to you about the numbers. They're—"

"Can't you lot whip up a spreadsheet and send it to me? Something with fancy colours and formulas," Crowley says dismissively to the cowering minion.

"Yes, um, of course, sir. I think Harold Newman in Legal is good with those. I'll—"

"Figure it out without telling me your whole sodding plan, yes." He arches an eyebrow at the minion's continued presence. Finally, they take the hint and scurry away.

This is exactly why he needs a spa day.

Perhaps he'll even get himself a pedicure. A nice red nail polish would look fetching.

* * *

"Unghhh," he moans as Rashad works his extraordinary hands over Crowley's back, shoulders, and down his arms. He feels like putty. The massage oils are heavenly, sinking into his skin and muscles as the nimble fingers work through every knot.

Unfortunately, the goodness has to stop sometime and Crowley regrets bitterly when Rashad's hands leave his body.

"Your robe, sir."

"Of course. Thank you."

While Crowley is not opposed to other kinds of happy endings to a massage, this is not that kind of establishment. A shame really, as Rashad's dark features and angled jaw are certainly appealing. And those hands can work such wonders…

In any case, a generous tip is in order, and Rashad flashes him a bright smile. Outside the massage room, a woman greets him to guide him to all the rest that the establishment has to offer.

"You could return to the steam room," the woman—Natalia, according to her nametag—smiles through a delicious set of red lips. Her pale grey eyes sparkle at him from underneath an auburn, side-swept fringe. "Or perhaps you would prefer the facials, manicures, and pedicures?"

"That does sound tempting," he admits. "Perhaps later. I think the steam room sounds more up my alley at the moment."

True, he does enjoy lounging in a sauna, but his real motivation for returning to the room is that it is the common element for all of the victims. Although the place has been renovated since his last spa day, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary when he'd been in there earlier today, letting the heat prepare his muscles for the massage. But he would be remiss not to investigate further. Besides, sitting and letting the steam continue Rashad's work sounds delightfully luxuriant.

"Of course, sir. Right this way."

He tightens his bathrobe and pads his way after her in the terrycloth slippers the spa provided. They walk past a door with a tastefully printed "OUT OF ORDER" sign taped above a nameplate reading "STEAM ROOM 1".

"Certainly lucky you have two rooms to keep you in business," Crowley remarks as they walk past the door towards the second room.

Natalia's shoulders stiffen, but relent minutely when Crowley doesn't push the matter or bring up the deaths. He's sure it's a touchy subject—and not the fun kind. Instead, she turns and smiles brightly, saying in her most professional tone, "Yes, we routinely conduct maintenance on every facet of the spa to make sure our guests enjoy their experience."

"Naturally. Safety first, hm?"

Natalia's smile falters a second before it returns, just as falsely chipper. "Of course. Please let us know if you need anything."

And with that, she ushers him into Steam Room 2.

The room is warmly lit and incredibly spacious: he's seen single bedroom flats smaller than this. There are built-in benches at a variety of levels and with different reclining angles. There's only one other occupant in the room, a curvy blonde in her thirties whose smile when she sees him results in rather charming dimples in her cheeks.

"Hiya," she greets.

"Hello," he says as he takes a seat across from her and to the left, far enough away that no one could accuse him of impropriety, but close enough so as not to make casual social conversation awkward. He can't say he's particularly looking for company at the moment, but better to appear cordial if not terribly chatty than standoffish and rude. The latter would certainly be more memorable and memorable is not what he needs on this case.

"I'm Donna." She stands up and offers him a hand. He can't help but notice the rather shapely thighs that the short bathrobe does little conceal. Donna has a firm grip and looks him right in the eye with the level of comfort of a woman who is used to dealing with hard men and isn't intimidated by them in the slightest.

He can more than appreciate that.

"Roderick. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

They sit amiably and quietly for a moment while Crowley tries not to make it too obvious he's examining the place for any indication as to why the other sauna became a murdery hotspot. As a result, it takes him longer than it should have to realize that his companion is trying equally hard to be casual and unobservant.

"Crazy about those deaths, huh?" she asks with a false laugh that he finds disturbingly familiar: it could give Dean's 'I'm charming you for information' smile a run for its money.

"Oh yes. Terrible tragedy. But I do suppose that's why they put up those warnings for people with heart conditions," he answers, aiming for his best casual small talk. Better to err on the side of caution until he figures out just who this Miss Donna really is. With a friendly and slightly bemused grin, he asks, "Apologies if this is forward, but you do look awfully familiar…"

"Oh gosh!" She offers a sheepish smile. "You've probably seen one of my election signs—I told my sister I didn't need my face plastered all 'round town to get reelected sheriff, but there you are."

"Ah, yes, that must be it."

So, the local constabulary is looking into the deaths as well. Unfortunately, this particular case is likely well outside the good sheriff's jurisdiction.

Glancing around again, he notices something up in the corner above the door; it appears to be some sort of symbol inlaid into the wall, barely noticeable except that the grains of the wood run counter to the rest of the paneling.

He sits up and stretches, twisting to the right to get a better look at it. He can't quite make it out from here, but he would guess Slavic in origin. He mirrors the stretch in the other direction for appearances' sake and lets out a satisfied sigh.

"That Rashad is truly amazing. If you haven't let him work on you, I highly recommend it."

Sheriff Donna smiles, and this time it's entirely genuine. "I have my appointment with him in a little bit! I was so relieved they kept on the massage staff when the place changed hands."

It's clearly been longer than he thought since he's been here. "I wasn't aware of a change in management."

"Mhm. Sold it to a new family in town about a month ago. Oh what's their name… Sounds kinda like vaseline..." She frowns. "Vasiliev! That's it."

Vasiliev. That would confirm Crowley's guess about the origins of the symbol. He starts going through a mental list of every Slavic creature and deity he can think of that would fit the circumstances. It's not a mythology he's as intimately familiar with, but there was that memorable time with a rusalka outside Minsk and—

Rusalka, water, bathhouse, sauna…

The pieces eventually click together, and if he's right, then his sunny companion could be at risk if—

He glances over and sees the sheriff twisting a necklace and a pendant between her fingers in an absent gesture that he's rather certain she's unaware of.

"That's a lovely necklace," he says, hoping to get a better look at it.

Donna glances down. "Oh this old thing? Just a gift from a friend." She lets it dangle between her fingers and Crowley's relief that it's not a crucifix or a saint medallion is quickly replaced by shock.

It's a protective charm and he would recognize the handiwork of Bobby Singer anywhere. Dear old Robert certainly had quite the network in his day, but Crowley suspects the sheriff might have other connections.

"Would your friend perhaps be a fellow sheriff in Sioux Falls? Or perhaps is tall, swaggering, and hopelessly obsessed with flannel, guns, and beer?"

Donna's eyes go wide and she asks in a stage whisper, "Are you a hunter?"

"For all intents and purposes for today, yes." He has a feeling trying to explain his frenemy status as the current King of Hell might be a bit much for the circumstances.

"Do you know what it is?" she asks. "What we're hunting?"

He stands and crosses to the other side of the room, pointing up at the symbol in the paneling. "A bannik. Small Slavic creature, protector of bathhouses."

She gets up to join him, peering up where he points. "Boy, I never woulda caught that." She bites the inside of her cheek for a moment in thought. "If it's a protective little guy, how come we've got three people dead in the past month?"

"Legend has it they would invite their demon chums to enjoy the bathhouse with them," Crowley explains, more relaxed now that he knows they're not in immediate danger, "but that's a load of bollocks. Banniks only get feisty when Christianity invades their bathhouse—crucifixes, idols, et cetera. Very territorial lot, though understandable as Christianity converted a lot of their followers. And besides, demons don't have friends, let alone banniks—" He tries not to grimace at the admission. "—and only a rare few bother to enjoy simple pleasures like this. Not enough killing and general mayhem."

"So I don't have to sprinkle my manicurist with holy water?"

Crowley snorts. _No, but perhaps I should be more wary of sticking my feet in the foot soak tub next time I'm in Minnesota_ , he thinks.

"I guess that's a relief," she continues. "Was getting tired of having all my spa days ruined by monsters."

He blinks. "How often does that happen?"

She shrugs. "Only twice so far, though I didn't really know it the first time. They told me after it was a pishtaco."

"A pishtaco? Those are rare this far north."

"Apparently it was sucking fat outta people. Didn't even know it. But hey, I lost ten pounds, so I suppose it was worth it. Quickest weight loss plan I ever went on." It's a self-deprecating smile she flashes at him and Crowley finds himself irrationally annoyed.

"Weight loss plan," he repeats, contemptuously. "And people say Hell is evil, when the things humans cook up to torture each other…"

"What?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head before looking at her earnestly. "For the record, you are lovely as is, and the only thing that would make you lovelier is if you had a knife hidden in that robe of yours I could borrow to pry out the sigil."

"Oh, uh, thank you," she replies, obviously thrown by the compliment, if also pleased and perhaps a little embarrassed, before schooling her face. Ah yes, there's the grit he knew must be behind the homey cheerfulness. She slides a hand into her robe, careful not to let it slip open, and produces a pocket knife with a smug smirk. "Be prepared. Once a scout, always a scout."

He accepts the knife and flicks it open. "I wasn't aware these were part of the scouting uniform."

"How else are you going to sell the most cookies?" she rejoins, and he's not entirely sure if she's joking or not. From what he knows of the Girls Scouts, it could go either way.

He's about to climb up on a bench to reach the symbol when the door opens and two people, obviously a couple, come in. Crowley and Donna freeze. Donna gives him a look which he thinks translates to some combination of _What now?_ and _Are they safe?_

"Hello," the man says while his companion settles down on the bench Crowley had been occupying before, crossing her legs daintily.

"Hiya," Donna says, plastering on a friendly smile.

Crowley, however, is more concerned with the small tattoo on the woman's ankle: a small blue-black cross.

"Donna, they need to get—"

Before he can finish, there's a high-pitched evil laugh and the temperature starts to soar. The steam rises in billows from the vents and the man begins to gasp.

"Mark!" the woman cries, rushing towards him, but she starts to choke on the steam which is practically opaque grey at this point. Whatever it is, it's not just water vapor.

Crowley, luckily, does not literally require breath and, being a demon, he can withstand extreme heat, but he does not fancy the odds for the humans in the room. "Donna—"

"I'll get them out, you get the symbol!" she cries, springing into action.

Fully confident in his partner's abilities, Crowley clambers up onto the bench. It's certainly not a graceful motion, but then again, typically when the job is hands-on for him, it's in the torture department, and that's more art than sport.

The symbol is tightly inlaid, very professionally done, and it takes a few precious seconds of prying with the tip of the knife to get any sort of leverage. He would simply blast the symbol, but mixing and matching magics from different systems can be ineffective at best and disastrous at worst. Force versus force is one thing, but symbols, which are often the heart of the power, are another matter entirely.

"Roderick!" Donna calls, and Crowley looks down to see her yanking at the door, with the help of the woman. The man is slumped along the wall. The door doesn't budge. The maniacal screeching laughter of the bannik, wherever it is, fills the room.

"Bloody hell," he mutters. "Get back! Along the wall!"

Donna and the woman retreat to the sides of the door, the woman pausing only to drag the man away from the jamb, and Crowley snaps his fingers while pulling his hand from the direction of the door to the interior of the room. The door flies off its hinges and clatters into the center of the room. Force versus force: a little bannik is no match for the raw power of the King of Hell.

Without waiting, Donna and the woman grab the man and start hauling him into the hallway, coughing and gasping themselves. Donna returns a second later.

"Roderick?"

"I'll be fine. Get everyone out of the building in case the steam travels." She hesitates until he waves her off. "Go!"

He returns to the sigil, gouging as best he can into the crack he's made. He gets the knife just under the first piece and the bannik's laughter changes to a shriek. Another twist of the knife and the chunk pops out. Instantly, the steam clears, the laughter stops, and the temperature begins to fall.

"Little bastard," he grouses. "I'm hardly a Catholic school girl but you don't see me getting in a tizzy over a little crucifix."

Of course, the bannik doesn't respond. Hopping down from the bench, Crowley picks his way over the wreckage of the door and across the hallway to the other steam room. Despite being locked, this door fares no better against him than its counterpart. He quickly finds the same symbol in this room and makes short work of it, thankfully with no screeching in his ear.

The rest of the spa is deserted, just as he'd hoped, and he finds Donna and the other patrons and employees in the parking lot. She's corralling everyone with her badge high in the air, and he really wonders what else she managed to have tucked away in that robe.

"Fire department'll be here soon, folks. Nothing to worry about."

Warily, they all huddle together. One man looks like he's going to argue, but the sheriff fixes him with a look and he settles down. He wishes his demon minions were so easily cowed. The man from the steam room looks like he's coming around, which is a relief. Crowley scans the crows and finds Natalia, the one who'd shown him to the steam room in the first place.

"Natalia, darling," he says softly, but in a way that brooks no argument. "Might I have a word?"

Her eyes dart around fearfully, but she nods and follows him a few steps away from everyone else.

"Your family owns this establishment, does it not?"

"Yes, and we'll of course refund your money, sir, and—"

He waves her off. "Money is not the issue. I'm much more concerned with why your upgrades to the steam room include rather testy banniks as security."

She frowns. "Banniks?"

He raises an eyebrow. "The symbols in the woodwork? Summon angry little creatures who like the sign of the cross even less than a vampire?" The vampire bit isn't even remotely accurate, but the general populace is fairly clueless about actual lore. Case in point.

Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops. "Oh my god. Those—those are just charms! My grandmother said they would bring good luck!"

"Yes, well, Baba Yaga's blessings are in pieces on the floor now, and unless you want more of your patrons dead, you'll leave them that way."

"What—"

Crowley doesn't explain further. He supposes that the Winchesters—Sam, most like—would probably stick around and reassure her that everything would be alright and all that soppy feel-good nonsense, but he feels he's done his part for the world today.

The paramedics and fire department arrive in short order and Crowley is contemplating transporting himself inside the spa to retrieve his clothes before the place is crawling with officials, but Sheriff Donna has sidled up to him, momentarily taking a break from crowd control.

"You've got some explainin' to do, mister."

"Have I?"

"Mhm." She crosses her arms. "It was pretty foggy in there, but I'm pretty sure I saw you make a door fly off its hinges without touching it. Last I checked, that's not exactly normal."

"Are you sure you want the truth? Don't want to just chalk it up to another strange day in the world of hunting and sheriffing?"

"Nope," she says, popping the P. "Could call Sam and Dean. Or Jody. Sure they'd fill me in."

"Ah." He grimaces. "I would perhaps avoid calling Sheriff Mills. She's never liked me much. And if you do call Squirrel and Moose, tell Dean that Crowley sends his love."

She snorts. "You betcha. Sure that'd go over real well. C'mon, Roderick...or is it Crowley?"

"Crowley."

"Crowley, then. Spill."

"Well, you might recall saying you hope you don't need holy water on your future spa days?"

Her eyes widen and she leans in conspiratorially. "You're a _demon_?"

He's slightly surprised that she only seems curious, not repelled.

"King of Hell, actually."

She rocks back on her heels, sizing him up. "Huh. King of Hell, you say?" She shrugs. "I woulda thought you'd be…"

"Horns? Forked tongue?" Oh how he hates those stereotypes. They're so gaudy.

"More evil."

He scoffs. "I am _extremely_ evil."

"Sorry." She grins, utterly not sorry. "What can I say? You saved a bunch of people and the fluffy robe's kinda killing the evil mastermind look."

Crowley narrows his eyes and tightens the belt on his robe. "This is hardly my usual attire."

"Lemme guess: fancy black suit? Maybe a red pocket square for flair?"

He's about to protest or add something about the quality of an Armani suit, but there's a twinkle in her eyes that says she knows exactly what his arguments are and they're just going to prove her point.

"Alright, you have me, Sheriff Donna. Well played."

Her smile is so bright it could light up a room. She chucks him on the arm. "Next time you're back in Minnesota, give me a ring. I could use a massage buddy. And I promise no holy water."

He's taken aback by the offer after just admitting not two minutes before that he is the bloody King of Hell. He coughs lightly. "Yes, well, Hell isn't exactly the kind of place you take a vacation from, but if the chance arises—"

"You're the King. I'm sure you can get some time off." One of the firefighters approaches, and Donna is immediately back in sheriff mode. But she smiles at him before she goes. "See ya 'round, Crowley."

"Yes, I think you shall."

With a snap of his fingers, he returns to his throne room. His minions blink in surprise, eyeing his robe.

"My lord…?"

Without a word or any indication that he's aware of their stares, he settles on the throne. For the moment, a fluffy white robe seems more than adequate attire for an evil mastermind.

"Now, where were we?"

The minions' report washes over him, but his mind is elsewhere. Particularly, it's back in Minnesota, planning his next retreat. He never did get his toenails done and he wonders if the sheriff would join him for pedicures.

She is right: if he can't take a day off, then what's the damn point of running the place? Sometimes it's good to be the King.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Coldest Hits:  
> [Here was the prompt and rules](https://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/613686990812119040/may-2020-prompt-ascended-demon-posting-dates-may). 
> 
> I'd actually had part of this sitting in my drafts for almost three years so I'm glad I had an excuse to finish it! Everyone needs more Crowley and Donna in their life. :)


End file.
